Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “Cheers, then,” Garrett answered smartly, holding his empty glass aloft and nearly missing the sound of a knock on the door.

  “Enter,” Joshua called out, and then belatedly realized who the knocker would be.

  Lady Charlotte Bingham, dressed in an apricot silk con­fection that appeared to float about her when she moved, entered the library slowly and deliberately, not at all sure what—or who—she would find. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said, intending to curtsy to their bows. Ah, Garrett McEl­liott! she thought happily, relieved Joshua’s guest was someone with whom she was familiar. She had spent many afternoons with the man at hospital, apprising him of Joshua’s condition when he came to visit his employer.

  Joshua was up in a moment, his entire being suddenly aware that Charlotte Bingham was a duchess embodied. And a beautiful woman. Her perfect coiffure, blonde curls amassed atop her head with spiral tendrils spilling down around her temples, was an ornate style one would usually see at a ball. The color of the gown showed off her creamy complexion and its cut hinted at a pleasing figure beneath. The white kid gloves, buttoned up to just above her elbows, were well-made and a snug fit on her slender fingers.

  Staring at her as if she were an apparition, Garrett didn’t immediately get to his feet. “I must have had entirely too much to drink,” he said in a voice suggesting he was surprised at how coherent he sounded. “I could swear Lady Charlotte Ellsworth just walked into this room,” he added as he looked over at Joshua and found his friend already standing and bowing in the direction of the apparition.

  Charlotte performed a curtsy worthy of an audience with the king. “At your service, Mr. McElliott. ’Tis very good to see you again.” If she was miffed he hadn’t stood upon her arrival, she didn’t show it in her features. Instead, she seemed to be suppressing a good deal of amusement at Garrett’s expense. And a knowing smile as she regarded him.

  He was every bit as handsome as she remembered him, and sitting before her in that relaxed, devil-may-care way he had perfected during his days as a gambler only emphasized his tall frame. The muscles of his thighs strained against his buckskin breeches, and his broad shoulders were barely con­tained in the dark green superfine topcoat he wore. If he had been wearing a cravat, there was no sign of it now, but his linen shirt was snowy white against his bronzed skin.

  Garrett jumped to his feet and bowed, the quick move­ments a sign he at one time had fenced for sport. “I beg your pardon, Lady Charlotte,” he said in a quiet voice. “This is most … unexpected,” he said in awe and a bit of embarrassment. He did a mental calculation and then decided it probably wasn’t so unexpected. Charlotte must be almost one-and-twenty, he figured suddenly. Which meant she was here to … His features hardened as he looked back at Joshua. “You could have said something,” he whispered to his friend. Returning his atten­tion to their guest, his gaze softened as he said, “Welcome to Wisborough Oaks. Please … have a seat.” He waved a hand toward a velvet upholstered chair. “May I get you some … wine?” he asked, wondering if there was any such drink in the library’s collection of spirits. And just where was Gates when drinks needed to be served?

  As if he could hear Garrett’s thoughts, the butler entered the library and hurried to the sideboard with a pot of coffee and a plate of walnuts. He poured three cups of the steaming brew and was about to deliver one to Charlotte, only to find her at his side. “I will see to this, Gates. I’m sure you have more important duties this evening.”

  Gates’ eyes widened, but he gave Lady Charlotte a nod and a, “Very good, milady,” before he bowed and left the room.

  Charlotte placed a cup and saucer on the table next to Joshua and another on the tea table in front of Garrett, bend­ing down a bit as she did so. Without even looking at Garrett, she was aware of his eyes on her as they took her in décolletage. She wondered if Joshua would be as appreciative of seeing so much of her. Although she didn’t often wear low cut gowns to dinner, she thought tonight’s dinner called for one. She had spent the last few hours contemplating how she was going to convince Joshua that marriage—marriage to her—was in his best interest. Showing a bit of cleavage was at least a start.

  As she returned to the sideboard to get the plate of wal­nuts, she was doubly aware of the two men staring at her. “Now, you two must tell me all about the dukedom,” she sug­gested, holding out the plate to each of them in turn. “I have much to learn if I’m to become its duchess.”

  A slow smile spread over Garrett’s face. She certainly knows how to get to the point. He deliberately ignored the look of shock that appeared on the part of Joshua’s face not covered by his mask.

  He’s doomed, Garrett thought happily. And he would have continued to allow Joshua his state of shock, but thought instead to throw the duke a lifeline. “Of course, Lady Char­lotte,” he said instead. “Where should we start?”

  Charlotte took a seat in a wingback chair that afforded a view of both men’s profiles. “Why, at the very beginning, of course,” she said before she took a sip of coffee and waited for their replies.

  Chapter 5

  Lady Charlotte Attempts Seduction

  The distant sound of cracking and splintering wood and was that glass breaking? pulled Joshua from a dream-filled sleep. He lay still for a moment, listening and wondering about what could have made such a sound, especially one that was louder than the sound of the wind battering the trees just beyond the room’s windows. A sound from closer drew his attention, though, and he concentrated on it. Mewling, from a frightened cat or … a woman?

  Rain pelted the bedchamber windows, and, for an instant, a flash of lightning turned the room white. The mewling, sounding very close, turned into a cry of fear. His senses at full alert, he sprang from his bed and moved toward the source of the sound, realizing almost immediately his dressing gown was nowhere near. A boom of thunder sounded from far away. He surveyed his room in the darkness, another flash of light­ing illuminating the shape of a person, a woman, he realized. “Who is there?” he asked, the sound of his voice louder than he intended. In the light from the next lightning strike, he made out the identity of his visitor. Charlotte, her hands cov­ering her ears, her eyes squeezed shut, stood before him. The whimpering sounds increased to a cry as the sound of boom­ing thunder filled the room.

  Joshua moved quickly to her, positioning himself so his nakedness wouldn’t be so apparent if she opened her eyes. “Charlotte?” he whispered, wanting to reach out and cover her mouth so as to silence her cries. Should a servant hear her and come to his room to investigate, she would be ruined. But he calmed himself on the thought there would be no servants prowling the halls this time of the night, and Garrett would be in his room, on the other side of the guest bedchamber Char­lotte should be in this very instant. That, and the sounds of the wind and the rain that now pelted the windows, allowed him to put his concern for Charlotte’s reputation aside as he now tried to determine what was causing her distress.

  “I apologize, Your Grace,” Charlotte said between sobs. “I am … so frightened.” White light filled the room, and she prac­tically screamed again.

  “Lady Charlotte,” he whispered, finally taking her in his arms and pulling her against the front of his body. He almost regretted the move; the scent of woman invaded his nostrils. Her satiny dressing gown caressed his skin. Her hair, a mass of loose blonde waves, gave off the scent of jasmine, and he fought the urge to bury his nose in the silken threads. Her hands suddenly wrapped around his body and pressed into his back as the side of her face pressed against his neck and shoul­der. He felt the warmth of her body, felt the wetness of her tears, felt her trembling and heard her quieting sobs. “What­ever is wrong?” he queried, his hands moving to the middle of her back, holding her hard against him so she wouldn’t be able to see his scars. Or his nakedness.

  The room filled with light again and the sound of roll­ing thunder followed immediately. Charlotte’s arms tightened around his back as she cried out again
. “Please, don’t make me leave,” she whispered, her tears leaving moist trails on the front of his chest.

  Her heart pounded a tattoo Joshua felt down to his core. She is scared to death, he realized, feeling the trembles of her body beneath his hands. “Shh,” he replied, not sure what he could say to assuage her fear. Very aware of the curves of her body pressed against him, he felt his loins tighten and fought to keep control of himself. If he stood there holding her for one minute longer, she would find herself even more fright­ened … of me, he thought.

  Leaving one arm firmly against the small of her back, he bent down and captured the back of her knees with his other arm, lifting her and taking her to the bed. A wisp of a thing, he considered, trying not to notice her dressing gown was no longer completely closed around her waist and what she wore beneath was shiny and slippery and clung to her body like a glove.

  He lowered her onto the bed and lay down, quickly cov­ering his body with the bed linens in an attempt to keep his nakedness hidden in the event another lightning flash lit the room. He also wanted to ensure she ended up on his unscarred side.

  She was clinging to that side of his body even before he could cover himself completely. Settling his head into his pillow, he was aware of her entire body trembling along the side of his body, aware of her hammering heartbeats through the smooth satin of her gown, aware of the scent of her as he wrapped his right arm around her shoulder and pulled her head to rest in the hollow of his shoulder. And he tried not to think of her right breast resting against his chest or of her satin-clad leg that was slowly sliding between his legs as her pulse slowed and her breathing turned slight. And when her right leg came to rest between his legs, he found he couldn’t ignore the fact that her hip was pressed quite firmly against his hardened manhood.

  Sighing lightly so as to lessen the rise and fall of his chest, he considered the mental torture he was experiencing as a result of Charlotte Bingham. He wanted this woman, he real­ized. Had wanted her even when she was to be his brother’s wife. He could admit that to himself now. She was beautiful. She was educated. She was refined. And she conducted her­self as if she were … a woman. A woman much older than her twenty-one years, he decided.

  How could that be? he wondered.

  Charlotte didn’t engage in chitchat or spend her days deciding what frippery to buy on her next shopping trip. Her family was rarely the topic of gossip. Her charity was St. Bar­tholomew’s, a calling she took very seriously. There was an air of responsibility about her and yet a cloak of defeat, too, as if she had taken on too much at one point in her life and found she couldn’t live up to the expectations placed on her.

  And she was frightened of something—besides lightning, he thought—or perhaps of someone.

  He would have to ask her about that.

  So why deny her the marriage she was so determined to have? If she has been preparing to be a duchess her entire life, then why not take her as my wife? he wondered to himself. She could be considered betrothed to him, even though he knew nothing of the particulars with regard to her dowry or age or … details, he considered suddenly. He would have to dispatch Garrett to London to learn what he could about the Bing­ham family and the arrangements made so many years ago for a marriage between their daughter and the future Duke of Chichester.

  Charlotte had made it clear over dinner she had no wish to return to London; Joshua was left wondering where she would go if he didn’t offer hospitality at Wisborough Oaks.

  Had her parents sent her here because she was almost old enough for the wedding to take place? It seemed odd her mother or a relative hadn’t joined her for the trip from Lon­don. What parent would allow their daughter, who hadn’t yet reached her majority, to travel over four hours by coach to a duke’s estate where, besides the servants, only men lived?

  Questions about Lady Charlotte continued to mount in his mind, and although he might have found them puzzling, they were far more entertaining to consider than his aching wounds and the concerns of the dukedom. I could just ask her the questions, he thought suddenly. Or, perhaps, if she were

  given enough time, she would offer the answers.

  Joshua took a deep breath and sighed.

  He would simply wait for Garrett to report back to him before he would make any rash decisions. Until then, per­haps he could put Charlotte to work just a bit. Running the household was his least favorite task as a duke; if she had truly trained to be a duchess, she could take on the responsibili­ties of the house and surrounding lawn and gardens. Planning the menus, overseeing the cook’s food purchases, speaking with staff, giving the gardener guidance as to how the grounds should look for the summer, and decorating that damned par­lor, he considered, remembering how every time the vicar’s sister attended a function at the estate, she mentioned how shabby the old salon had become.

  In the meantime, he would have to endure the other tor­ture he found himself experiencing. His manhood was quite aware of the nearly naked woman pressed against it. The pads of her right fingertips lay lightly on his chest and mounds of blonde curls tickled the skin around his shoulder. The slip­pery satin of her dressing gown, still wrapped mostly about her body, felt cool, almost sensual against the skin on the right side of his body, and he wondered for a moment how it would feel against his scarred left side. Although not many nerve endings had survived the trauma of being burned, those that did ached for something pleasant to feel, something smooth and soft and comforting.

  As if Charlotte could read his thoughts, she straightened the arm that rested on his chest. Her fingers absently glided over the scars around his ribs and under his left arm, their soft caress sending a series of shivers through him. His breath caught, and she stirred, her head moving a bit and her fingers deliberately retracing the path that sent his skin trembling. He was about to place a hand over hers … not quite sure if he wanted to still it or to hold it for the sake of … touching her,

  he thought, his body still thrilling at the thought of her body pressed against his.

  “Has it stopped?” she whispered, her head suddenly lifting a bit from his shoulder.

  Joshua held his breath for a moment, thinking, God no, don’t stop, as the pleasurable frissons darted under his skin. He didn’t realize what she was asking until a dim glimmer from a far away lightning flash appeared in the window. “It’s almost passed over,” he whispered, his left arm moving to rest under the arm she had draped over his chest. “What … frightened you?” he wondered, his head turning so hers was under his chin. The scent of jasmine wafted under his nostrils and he took a deep breath. If I marry her, I could have this scent under my nose every night for the rest of my life, some part of his mind reasoned.

  Charlotte was so still he thought she might have gone to sleep, but her soft voice sounded again. “I saw a tree hit by a lightning bolt once. It burst apart … pieces of it went every­where,” she murmured, her head burying into him again. “And then the tree burned, and part of the stables burned, and one of our grooms died in the fire. His room was in the attic of the stables, and he couldn’t get out.”

  Damn! Joshua thought, suddenly understanding her fear as the thought of forever smelling jasmine flew from his brain. “Was anyone else hurt?” he whispered, his hold on her more protective as he turned his body just a bit toward hers. His cock was suddenly pressed against the satin over her belly. When she didn’t move away or otherwise react, Joshua took a deep breath. If he wasn’t careful, he might find himself taking her as his betrothed this very night, whether she truly wanted him as a husband or not.

  “I don’t remember anyone else being burned,” Charlotte whispered, her voice sounding very far away. “But there were several who couldn’t breathe very well for a long time.”

  Smoke inhalation, he thought, remembering all too clearly how his own lungs had burned whilst he tried in vain to get his sister out of her room and down the stairs and out the front door of the estate house. He hadn’t even noticed his burning cloth
es, his left side engulfed in flames as he descended the front steps. Before he passed out, from pain or from lack of oxygen, he knew not, he was aware of someone taking his life­less sister from his arms and of someone else throwing him to the ground and covering him before intense pain and black­ness surrounded him.

  For four weeks, he was in and out of consciousness, only occasionally aware of someone in a room with him, and usu­ally because severe pain or a fever or chills would wake him.

  “You were a very quiet patient.”

  His thoughts suddenly pulled from the past, Joshua held his breath. He considered the words he had just heard. “What did you say?” he asked, his hoarse whisper cracking a bit as a silent sob took his breath. My sister died in my arms that night, he remembered, wondering how long it had been since he had thought of his futile attempt to save her. Despite the daily reminder of the fire that destroyed the estate house, every time I look in a mirror, he thought with derision, he tried not to think of what else had been lost besides half his face and the skin on his left side down to the top of his hip. Of who else had been lost. Because to think of the loss of his sister and mother filled him with a sense of despair and hopelessness that took days to overcome, and he couldn’t afford the time to mourn their loss. Not now.

  He didn’t know at the time that his sister had died in his arms that night. In fact, it was weeks before he discovered she had died and been buried in the family plot on the east end of the estate lands under a large evergreen oak tree.

  And that a plot had been dug for him, as well.

  “I said you were a very quiet patient,” Charlotte repeated, her voice still sounding far away.

  The words finally penetrated his addled brain and he moved to lift his head from the pillow. “When … when was this?” he replied, his voice sounding loud to his ears.